


Christmas Unwrapping

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR, No baby, Season 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Christmas decorating Mulder and Scully style.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Christmas Unwrapping

The boxes are in the attic, stacked in dusty piles. She pulls them down, one by one and by the time Mulder comes home with the tree, she’s unravelled the lights and tested them, found the star, and thrown out the broken candy canes. She’s certain she threw them out years before, but a memory filters through her mind.

Mulder digging through the garbage, retrieving the canes with a look of triumph on his face akin to his I’ve-seen-a-UFO-so-there expression, and challenging her on the ethics of throwing away plastic-wrapped sugar decorations.

“They’re out of date, Mulder,” she had said.

“But we’re not going to eat them, Scully. We just hang them. Why do we care about use-by dates on decorations? Will you be throwing out this bauble that looks like Skinner’s head after a few rounds in the ring, just because it says Christmas 1998?” He held it up to the light, twisting it this way and that. “Wasn’t that the year we went ghost-hunting? And by the way, that book you gave me, on the Taniwha, is one of my favourite reads, to this day.”

“The umbrella you gave me, with the four-leafed-clovers around the edge, broke in the first windstorm of the new year. So much for good luck omens.”

He’d chuckled then pulled an appropriately sad face. She didn’t tell him she’d kept the umbrella anyway, along with that blue hiking coat.

Now, he’s already filled the bucket with soil and she watches him plant the tree, pushing the earth with his fingers so that it compacts around the trunk. The tree is good, she thinks, assessing it. Symmetrical and solid, good colour, a silvery green with sturdy limbs. It reminds her of him in a way. Physically they’re both tall, strong (and his hair spikes at all angles when he’s fresh from the shower) but in an abstract way the tree represents him in her memories - all those trips around winding forest roads, his ever hopeful reaching out to the heavens, whether he’s being burnt in the sun or thrashed with rain, the way he clings to the search for the truth just as the trees cling to the earth they’re buried in, never moving an inch. Mighty resilience or sheer bloody-mindedness, she’s never quite worked out which one applies.

Taking the lights ready to start, she turns to see Mulder already hanging canes and candles and cones. “What are you doing?”

“Helping?” Surprise makes his voice a little shrill and the decoration he’s trying to hang – the little angel with the crooked halo - slips over the needles and swings freely back and forth.

“We start with the lights, Mulder.”

“There’s an order?”

“There is and this is.” She unhooks his decorations and hands them back to him. “Lights first.”

He salutes. Then proceeds to watch her as she winds the strings higher and higher. She’s tiptoeing and her sweater has come loose and the cold is playing across her lower back and he’s all arms crossed and smug satisfaction waiting, just waiting, for her to ask him for help. But she’s nothing if not proud. Her tongue is digging at the corner of her mouth as she lassos the lights around the top of the tree. She steps back, relieved for a brief second, then watches them unravel like a loose stitch.

“Need any help, Scully?”

“Nope,” she says, through clenched teeth, and tries again, stretching up as high as she can. Why did she kick off her boots at the door?

The end of the wire hooks around the top point of the tree but as she begins to wind them around, it slides down and before long she’s covered in fairy lights.

He shimmies over to her, smugly, takes the end of the wire in his hand, dangles it in front of her. “If I plug this in, Scully, maybe you could just stand there and I’ll hang the baubles from your limbs and…” His eyebrows dance suggestively as he looks down at her chest. His toes are pressed against hers and she can see his chest rising and falling, as he flirts with her and her patience. “Now, I’ll ask you again, do you need any help?”

Winding the wire around his hands, he loops it over her shoulders and pulls her even closer. He kisses the end of her nose, then her cheek, the spot in front of her ear that makes her nipples tighten, before sweeping his mouth along the line of her jaw. “Mizz Scull-tree, am I turning you on yet?”

She lets out the giggle and shakes her face free from his. “My lights are not twinkling, O Wise Man. You might have to try again.”

The bulbs chink on the floor as he lets them fall. He sweeps her up, hands cradled under her ass, and she hooks her feet around his waist. They stumble to the nearest wall where he counterbalances her weight against his, planting his feet apart and using his hips to prop her thighs. The sharp edge of his belt digs into her belly and she slides her hands down to remove it. Next, she tugs his Henley free and lets her fingers wander over the soft hair below his navel, before unzipping his fly and listening to the rumple of denim against the floor.

“Unwrapping presents before the big day itself is a tradition in some European countries.” His voice rasps against her neck as she rubs herself against him. He hardens and the friction they’re creating is enough to power the whole house.

She sighs as he unbuttons her pants and shifts himself against her centre with renewed vigour. The uneven brickwork scrapes across the knots of her spine and if she weren’t so aroused, she’d ask to move. But at their age, with their history, fucking against the wall is a Christmas memory begging to be made, so bruises be damned, she’s going to roll with it. One hand pushes up the front of her sweater affording him access to her lace-covered breasts. The cool air leaves her skin stippled. Or maybe it’s the way he’s nuzzling the point of her collarbone.

“Are you saying…mmm…we’re…each other’s…uh… presents?” She can barely form a sentence.

“Well,” he huffs, hooking his fingers under the sides of her briefs and slipping them down her hips, “you are the only gift I’ll ever want.” The cotton of his boxers sticks to her wetness and he groans into the side of her face. “Please, Scully, rip the damned wrapping off.”

She yanks the elastic waistband down hard. They snap against his ass and he chokes out a laugh-yelp, but his cock springs free and he slides in without further introduction.

“This. Is. What. Heaven. Must. Be. Like.”

With each word he thrusts and her naked backside scrapes against the wall, abrading her skin with delicious, stinging heat. Sparks fill her eyes, diamond flecks of passion lighting the room. His legs tremble but he remains firmly planted inside her and she tilts her pelvis forward, with a rough sigh.

The slight change of angle sends heat flaming in her belly and she feels her toes quiver in anticipation of her climax. Pleasure edges up and down her body, until it builds to an unbearable level, exploding in cascades that ripple through her. A long, sensual moan escapes her lips and the point of Mulder’s Adam’s apple bumps against her jaw. He shifts his hands, fingernails digging into her flesh, pumps harder, faster until his breathing catches, small groans punctuate his movements and he shudders into her. Shoulders softening, his chin falls against the crook of her neck, his hot breath comes in short spurts and his fingers unlock one by one underneath her.

Gently, he lowers her to the floor and she supports his weight as he recovers.

“That was unexpected,” she says. The small of her back is throbbing and there are bruises forming on her ass cheeks.

“Christmas is supposed to be about surprises, Scully.”

“Even after all this time, we can still take each other…”

He cuts her off, leaning in and kissing her softly. “Yes, we can.”

Tutting playfully, she bops his nose with her bunched-up panties. “I was going to say ‘unawares’. And I need to clean up.” She dashes to the bathroom.

“There’s nothing unawares about you, Mizz Scull-tree,” he calls after her.

When she returns, he’s strung the lights and they twinkle as he starts to hang baubles. His reflection in her favourite one – a bright silver ball with a frosted top – shows a contented, relaxed man. No more darkness.

“Am I doing this right?” There’s a smirk on his lips but something about his eyes is seeking her approval.

She takes a sprig of gold holly and places it next to the silver bauble. “You’re always doing it right, Mulder.”

Together, they take the star and Mulder guides their hands upwards. She tiptoes, but can’t keep up with the trajectory. He chuckles lightly, slips his free arm around her waist and lifts her up so that she’s leaning on his hip. The star sits on the top point and he lets her slip down, still holding on to her.

They stand together like that for the longest time, watching the fairy lights glow and fade, before they turn to face each other, in perfect synchronicity, and kiss.


End file.
